Chapter 484: Hidden Killers

Roaming the rivers and lakes, seeking fame is only natural.

After all, life is short, with your head tied to your belt, wielding a blade to carve your path—do you think you're doing it for fun, not fame or profit?

There are many ways to gain fame and profit.

Some are single-minded, believing they can force their way to renown through sheer blade skill.

Others are shrewd, knowing this world isn't just about blades—it's about rules and human connections; a sedan chair needs many to carry it, and reputation spreads through others' lips.

Thus, more and more people have turned to this path.

Publicly seeking instruction is one such method.

Note: it's "seeking instruction," not "challenging."

These are two entirely different things.

When someone humbly asks for guidance, you can't strike hard—they're all people of standing; word gets around, and your reputation suffers.

Yet those who come to "seek instruction" and are defeated never grow angry; instead, they sincerely admit, "I am unworthy," and then spread your name, even generously treating you to meals and wine.

In the future, when others speak of you, they'll sigh, "Oh, him? I know him—he's truly formidable; I once faced him, lost by a single move."

Saying that raises their own stature.

And the reputation of the one challenged grows ever louder.

To be honest, though it smells of free-riding fame, it brings no real harm—it benefits both sides.

But for Li Yan, it had become a major problem.

And it was disgusting.

These people specifically chose public places to appear.

Can you imagine an old man past fifty suddenly jumping out, treating you with the reverence of a teacher, begging you to instruct him?

Not long after leaving Longquanyi, a crowd suddenly appeared, "seeking instruction," bowing respectfully, speaking with polished manners, showering him with flattery.

One or two could be endured.

But their constant appearance disrupted his journey.

Li Yan made no effort to conceal his presence—he wasn't trying to attract these people.

…

Seeing Li Yan's contempt, the young swordsman didn't anger—he smiled, bowed deeply, and declared loudly: "I know my skill is inadequate, unworthy of sparring with Master Li. But I still beg you to grace me with your instruction."

As he spoke, a flicker of triumph flashed in his eyes.

With those words, if Li Yan refused, he'd appear arrogant and conceited—and he'd already planted the seed: losing would be perfectly normal.

Next, all he needed was to follow the script.

Take a beating, cry out in admiration, and from then on, he could boast to anyone: "I've faced him," and raise his own value.

Li Yan was both furious and amused.

On Mount Wudang, he'd heard a little tale.

When Master Sanfeng's fame spread across the land, seekers of instruction came in endless streams—even Daoist sorcerers took up this practice.

So much so that Mount Wudang still has its rules today.

To seek instruction, one must begin from the lowest disciples; no random beggar can demand to spar with the ancestral master.

Even so, Master Sanfeng was driven to desperation—when traveling, he dressed in rags, joked, cursed, and acted nothing like a master.

Though it may be an exaggeration, it reveals how troublesome such people are.

Li Yan never imagined he'd one day face this himself.

Fortunately, the elders had long devised two solutions: one, set a threshold through disciples; two, display a stunning technique to deter at least some.

Thinking of this, Li Yan picked up a sunflower seed, flipped out the window of the inn, and landed on the street.

"Good! Good!"

The crowd immediately cheered.

The young swordsman's eyes also gleamed with delight.

But to his surprise, Li Yan made no move—not even a word. He simply strolled to an old house, still munching sunflower seeds.

Wufengxi Old Town was ancient; this house had used old dock stones, dragged from who-knew-where, as its foundation—mottled with moss, looking unnaturally hard.

As he ate, Li Yan pinched the sunflower seed shell, his fingertips trembling with subtle force, driving the shell into the green stone.

One after another, forming the character "Li."

The crowd fell utterly silent.

As the saying goes: "Amateurs watch the spectacle; experts watch the technique."

The common folk didn't understand, but the feat was astonishing—they couldn't fathom how something as brittle as a sunflower seed shell could pierce green stone.

But seasoned martial artists widened their eyes.

This was the explosive release of hidden internal force, concentrated into a single point—the hallmark of "flowers and leaves can wound."

But Li Yan's feat was harder.

Sunflower shells are extremely brittle; a moment's slip and they shatter. Add powerful force, and to pierce green stone, the control must be flawless.

Only at the Transformation stage could one achieve this.

Among martial artists, a lifetime of struggle yields few who reach Transformation—talent and fortune both indispensable; enough to become a local martial magnate.

Like Zhou the Old Monkey back then.

As long as you didn't provoke a powerful enemy, life was blissfully easy.

Many martial artists present now looked at him with complex eyes.

The Transformation masters they'd seen were mostly ancient; if one was still young, he was a prodigy no one dared underestimate.

This Li Yan—how young was he…?

He might one day be remembered in history as a legendary master!

As for the "seeking instruction" young swordsman, his face turned pale. He said nothing more and slipped quietly into the crowd, fleeing.

The gap was too vast—carrying on this act would only make him a laughingstock.

Li Yan ignored him, scanning the crowd.

"Don't touch the seeds, don't damage the stone—retrieve them, and find me again!"

Saying that, he turned and walked back into the inn, still eating sunflower seeds.

This, too, was a martial world rule.

Want to ride on my fame?

Fine. But follow my rules.

If you can't?

Go somewhere cooler!

…

Unnoticed, night fell.

The Wufengxi dock, though not as grand as Chongqing's Chaotianmen pier, still teemed with people—and thus, food, drink, and entertainment thrived.

But this wasn't a wealthy place; those who stayed overnight were either martial artists or weary merchants and boatmen.

Hardworking and weary, few were willing to spend.

Thus, the tea houses and eateries along the dock were mostly crude.

Even the prostitutes were less attractive.

Yet the bustle was just as intense.

Night mist curled, river fog thick, fishing lights glowed along the shore, while tea houses and taverns in the ancient town blazed with lanterns—shouts, dice calls, and cheers never ceased.

In his room, Li Yan sipped tea.

Sichuan people loved tea; he'd learned the habit along the way.

Here, they practiced the gaiwan tea ritual—the lid, bowl, and saucer called the "Three Talents Bowl," symbolizing Heaven, Earth, and Humanity united.

Pour tea, add water, flip the bowl—eyes dazzled.

Pouring and drinking alone, it held its own charm.

Yet his mind was elsewhere.

Since showing his skill that day, things had grown easy—no one had disturbed him since.

But these people were insignificant.

Li Yan felt he was still being watched.

When he appeared in daylight, his back had grown cold, as if a sharp blade pressed against his spine, ready to pierce him through.

Someone was using sorcery to monitor him.

But the opponent was skilled—he still hadn't found them.

This journey was certainly treacherous; traps may already have been laid.

Li Yan knew what they feared.

Simply that he might summon yin soldiers.

They clearly planned to neutralize this advantage.

But they didn't know: Li Yan's Gangling had long been used up, he'd received no new mission—he held no such card.

So he must uncover the identity of the hidden enemy, gain full certainty, before moving forward.

The first step: eliminate the one watching him!

In the past, such tasks fell to Lu San—he never had to worry. Now, he alone must break the deadlock.

Thinking of this, Li Yan rose, opened the door, and called down the stairs: "Boy, bring me more hot water."

Soon, the boy hurried up with hot water, bowing and scraping with eager deference: "Young Master, the water's here. The landlord said, if you need anything, just ask."

Li Yan chuckled softly. "Alright, bring me some wine and dishes…"

!.

As he spoke, he dipped his finger in tea and wrote several characters on the wooden table: one jin of coarse paper, bamboo sticks, paste.

The boy was sharp—he didn't understand why Li Yan wanted these things, but he understood well enough not to ask, only nodding with a smile: "Young Master, wait a moment; the wine and dishes will arrive shortly."

Saying this, he hurried out of the room.

Li Yan smiled faintly and took out the "Dragon-Snake Token," playing with it.

This was his second advantage.

With this object, any remote spell cast against him would lose its target and fail to detect his magical aura.

If he wasn't mistaken, the opponent was using some method to observe through another.

Perfect—he could counter it directly…

……

A thousand meters away, in a dilapidated warehouse.

The floor was covered with yellow cloth, upon which the Eight Trigrams were painted; candles glowed around the perimeter.

A child, seven or eight years old, sat cross-legged in the center, bare-chested, his body marked with vermilion talismans; his eyes were closed, hands clasped together.

Before the child stood a rice basket.

Inside, it was piled high with grain; a Bagua mirror stood upright in the center, surrounded by small flags, and before the mirror burned a soul-guiding lamp.

A black-robed old Daoist muttered incantations, gently stroking the child's eyelids with his withered palm, while his left hand formed a seal.

"Do you see it?"

"Master, I see your hand glowing."

"Keep looking—watch closely!"

The Daoist snorted coldly; the child immediately frowned. Though his eyes were shut, he seemed to strain to see something clearly.

At last, the child spoke: "I see a window."

"What's inside the window?"

"Only shadows—like someone reading…"

The two exchanged questions and answers—these were the sorcerers spying on Li Yan.

This method, in the Golden Gate, was called the Round Light Technique.

It used a spirit medium to observe and probe.

Most often, these were Jianghu frauds.

The mediocre ones would train an apprentice to assist them.

The more skilled ones would select a child from the household of the person they were interrogating, smear their palms with hallucinogens, and use verbal traps to make the child reveal secrets of the household.

Most common folk fell for it.

But true Xuanmen sorcerers used secret methods paired with spirit-child mediums—children who had awakened the Mind's Eye or the Gaze Penetration.

This technique was profound, but it inflicted great harm on the medium.

Genuine sorcerers generally looked down on using it.

Besides the Daoist and the child, several others stood nearby, each with dark eyes and formidable aura.

The strange man from the Shu Prince's mansion who painted faces was among them.

"This kid really has leisure time…"

Hearing Li Yan was reading, a burly black-faced man couldn't help sneering: "After stirring up such trouble, why isn't he running? Does he really think he's got three heads and six arms?"

"Three heads and six arms? Not likely."

An old man in scholar's robes shook his head: "But the yin soldiers of the Living Yin Officer—anyone who sees them gets a headache. Unless we draw it out, I dare not act."

These people were all the Shu Prince's gathered specialists of the fringe arts.

They had been ordered to reclaim the "Ruyi Treasure Pearl" and kill Li Yan.

Previously, they'd devised a plan: conceal a bomb on a boat with a secret treasure, and blow Li Yan to pieces the moment he boarded.

But unexpectedly, Li Yan was delayed by challengers, who also disrupted their plan, forcing them to continue surveillance.

The face-painted man spoke gravely: "Have you found out which faction is spreading rumors to incite the crowd against this kid?"

"No idea."

A seductive woman shook her head: "Too many people spread it—we couldn't trace the source. We caught a few leads, but everyone who knew anything was silenced, and they killed even more ruthlessly than we do."

The black-faced man sneered: "How many enemies has this kid made? He doesn't even know the Jianghu rules. Even with some talent, he won't live long."

His words betrayed unmistakable envy.

The face-painted man glanced at him. "Dragging this out won't work. I've got an idea—might kill him outright."

"Didn't he say challengers must bring melon seeds first? That's no problem for you all. Under the guise of seeking instruction, he won't dare summon his yin soldiers—just kill him during the match!"

At these words, everyone exchanged glances.

It was a decent plan—but too humiliating.

They were all renowned masters; hiding their identities to kill was acceptable, but doing this in public would make them the laughingstock of the cultivation world.

Though they'd pledged to the Shu Prince, none were lone wolves.

Doing this would shame their disciples beyond redemption.

Besides, this kid wasn't a soft target.

What if they failed…

For a moment, no one spoke.

"Enough. I'll do it."

The black-faced man looked around coldly. "All of you have taken the Shu Prince's rewards. If you can't deliver, what will you answer to him?"

"Brother Wang speaks truly."

"Brother Wang's intervention will surely succeed!"

Everyone showered him with flattery without restraint.

The black-faced man was none other than the leader of the Lotus Sect of Shu.

The Lotus Sect originated in Xiangxi, a folk lineage blending Dao and martial arts, famed for spirit-possession martial techniques.

Of course, the Shu branch of the Lotus Sect was far inferior to its Xiangxi original, and even had internal conflicts—hence their defection to the Shu Prince.

This leader of the Shu Lotus Sect was notorious for his jealousy—he couldn't even tolerate his own disciples—and seeing someone like Li Yan, he naturally longed to kill him at once.

"Good!"

The face-painted man nodded. "Since Master Wang takes the field, we shall watch with anticipation. Finish this quickly—avenging Master Pei!"

With the plan settled, everyone left the warehouse.

They considered themselves too noble to remain in such a place.

Besides, they feared Li Yan might use his yin soldiers to wipe them all out at once.

Inside the warehouse, only the Daoist and the child remained.

"Is he still there?"

"Master, he's still there."

……

In the inn room, candlelight flickered dimly.

A paper figure sat at the table reading, emitting a faint aura—identical in scent to Li Yan's…

(End of Chapter)